Why Harry had a Tomahawk
by IamDiamondback
Summary: When wizard-turned-freak Deadpool accidentally kidnaps the Boy Who Lived, he and his squib sister Dina (OC) must fight to evade laws human, magical, and parental.
1. Chapter 1: The Job

Chapter 1: The Job

—

Let's begin at the beginning, shall we?

Just kidding. That would be too easy. Flashbacks are nice and complicated, and they make an author's life _so_ much easier.

The story of Wade and Dina Wilson is a long one.

But you don't care about them, do you? You came for one of two reasons: to hear why the #%$ Harry Potter carried a tomahawk, or to escape you homework.

To escape your homework, continue reading.

To find out why the #$% Potter carried a tomahawk, do the same.

For real this time, let's begin. Not at the beginning, like any sane person would like, but in the middle. Our story middles in 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England, the UK, Terra, Sol-2187, the Milky Way, the Universe. A universe, anyway. Let's listen in.

—

Privet drive was quiet at night. Its residents were right proud of it, too. No alien invasions here, thank you very much. No government officials, no terrorists, no freaks, no criminals, no burglars. No neighborhood watch, either. No dogs roamed the quiet black streets. No stray cats sang a ghastly chorus atop a fence. Nothing out of the ordinary ever happened, ever, on Private Drive.

If you like that, stop now. You've been warned.

When a lone pedestrian turned a corner and crossed into the lane, no one stopped him to ask where he was going. No one unglued their eyes from their TV set and called the police. No one saw the bulges under his black hoodie and the holsters on his hips. Only fate saw, and only fate reacted. Fate sucker-punched himself in the stomach and did a somersault.

Deadpool strolled past 1 Privet drive, a troubled soul. Troubled for two reasons.

First, good burritos were hard to find in Surrey. Really hard, man. The last job had been in Mexico. The salsa was to die for. Now the one and only Deadpool was stuck in England, without a taco in sight. Can't get a #$% good job in this kind of economy.

Second, his employer. Apparently, the guy who handed him the money and the intel was a friend of a friend of some nut in Azkaban. Very confidence-inspiring. Couldn't even get the dude's name.

Aw, #$% it, dinero es dinero.

Deadpool walked past 4 Privet Drive, lost in thought. Suddenly, he stopped, spun on his heel, and walked directly toward the front door.

—

Harry awoke to a loud crash. He groaned. Dudley must have fallen down the stairs. Again. Harry's corpulent cousin had a fetish for his mother's chocolate brownies, such that the pig-boy often snuck downstairs in the night to gorge himself. Not that he needed to sneak; Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia never denied their Duddiekins.

Next would come Dudley's scream of agony from the landing below the staircase. Petunia would rush downstairs, as always, and comfort her darling. Pig-boy would probably get a giant slab of chocolate pastry to himself and the blame for the entire incident would somehow fall, once again, on Harry.

The scream came, but not from the landing. Dudley was in the kitchen already. Suddenly, Harry was fully awake. He sat up slowly in his cupboard and clutched his frayed blanket to his chest. Something was very, very wrong. Dudley couldn't possibly be at the door and in the kitchen at once. A stranger was in the house.

—

Petunia Dursley woke to the sound of Dudley's scream. Frantic, she leapt out of bed, pulling her pink silk bathrobe on over her starched white nightgown. Petunia Dursley hurried down the stairs and stopped in her tracks. She had all of three seconds to mourn her freshly-painted front door.

—

Harry heard the noise the gun made. He knew what silenced weapons sounded like; Aunt Petunia liked to watch crime dramas on TV while he washed up after the evening meals. Next came the thunk on the staircase, right above Harry's knees. It was a light noise. Aunt Petunia, then.

Harry started hyperventilating. He couldn't think. All he could do was shiver in the dark and stay quiet. He was good at that.

—

Vernon Dursley heard the noise downstairs. Now, Vernon Dursley was an interesting man. A bully? Certainly. A miser? Undoubtably. Ugly? Irreversibly. But stupid? Stupid he was not. So Vernon Dursley grabbed his shotgun and crept out of his room and toward the staircase.

—

Harry heard the same noise again, followed by a series of thunks from the top to the bottom of the staircase. The entire staircase shook with the weight of the body. Harry bit his lip so hard he nearly drew blood. He tried to move farther back against the wall, but leaned against a nail. He hissed in pain, then froze.

—

Deadpool was bored. So far, the job had been all too easy. He'd kicked in the door and seen first a pig in the kitchen, mouth covered in chocolate. The pig (or maybe boy) fainted straight away. Whatever. He wasn't the target. Wade heard a stirring upstairs and wasted no time. He slid over the countertop and went for that chocolate. Deadpool always, always stopped for chocolate.

Just as Mr. Pool was beginning his first brownie bar, he saw the primary target scurrying downstairs. Scurrying was the right word for it. She moved like an overeager squirrel, if that squirrel hadn't eaten in a month. One shot was all it took. Petunia Dursley was dead.

Really, all Deadpool wanted was to finish his brownie, but before he could continue, a walrus with a shotgun appeared upstairs.

"Shotgun," Deadpool muttered. "This whole gig would be easier if they'd just outlaw the #$% things." The mercenary fired his silenced pistol. "Freak with handgun beats walrus with shotgun." Easy enough.

The house was silent. Deadpool took a moment to contemplate his hate for shotguns. Not that they could kill him, but the cleanup could be _so_ messy and he really hated digging pellets out.

That's when he heard the whimper. The red-clad man-for-hire swung around, gun ready, towards the unconscious pig (boy?) on the kitchen floor. Still fast asleep. Deadpool sighed. Must be another #$% kid in the house.

"Kids," Deadpool groaned. "Why is there always a kid? Now I have to find the thing and knock it out. If this one holds up a rainbow unicorn in my face I'll quit the #$% job."

The mercenary slid over the countertop again, hopped over the bodies by the door, and ran up the narrow stairway to check the bedrooms.

—

Harry heard the thuds above his cupboard room and guessed that the man was upstairs. Now might be his only chance to escape. Hands shaking, he crouched by the door, took a deep breath, and then he pushed hard.

It was locked.

—

Deadpool was reading the pig's copy of the Batman Begins comic adaptation when he heard the noise downstairs. He stuck his new favorite comic book into his backpack, ran out of the cluttered bedroom, and leapt over the banister and onto the first floor. He holstered his pistol and loaded a tranq dart into the blowgun. Finally, he unlocked the broom cupboard and fired the dart at the first thing that moved. It yelped once and then fell silent. Cramming the rarely-used blowgun into his backpack, the mercenary crouched by the kid and turned him over so he wouldn't suffocate in his blanket.

That's when Deadpool saw the kid's face.

"Aw, #$%."


	2. Chapter 2: Cleanup

Chapter 2: Cleanup

-Insert typical comment about how Marvel owns Deadpool and MCU and JK owns Harry Potter and I wish I did blah blah blah-

—

Deep inside the Ministry of Magic lies the Department of Muggle Relations. Deep inside said department lies the Coverup Commission. Deep inside said commission lies the tiny office of one Dina Wilson. Deep inside a pile of paperwork in said office sat Dina Wilson, working late again.

Dina shouldn't be a Ministry employee. Let alone an office worker. Underneath the regulation robe she wears black jeans and an Iron Man t-shirt. Underneath her cap lies a dazzling green ombre. Behind her dead, glazed stare lies an active mind. But nothing shows on the surface. Not in this world.

Dina took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair, eyes resting on the mountain of work yet to be done. Last weekend, on the anniversary of Voldemort's defeat, the Coverup Commission had worked round the clock to keep the magical world hidden. The work was hard, but what every person in the department dreaded was the week after. Filing charges for the many Statute of Secrecy breaches was no easy task, and tying up the loose ends from a national celebration like this one could take weeks.

Dina sighed, leaned forward, and pulled a pen from the steel cylinder on her desk. She was just about to begin transcribing the fifteenth set of charges when her door burst open.

"Dina, come on, why aren't you checking your pager?"

Momentarily startled by the new arrival, Dina jumped to her feet, knocking a stack of paper off of her desk. A flashing red orb, crammed between pages, rolled off the table.

"Sorry, Mr. Musgrave, it got buried. You need me?"

"Like #$% we need you. Come on, everyone's waiting."

Muttering, the ex-auror and new Commission chief strode out of the room. Dina scrambled for her jacket and scrambled to follow him.

"What happened?"

Musgrave glanced behind him, and seeing her following, quickened his pace.

"Can't talk here. Hurry up."

"Yes, sir."

Musgrave was not a tall man, but years of active duty as an auror had taught him how to move quickly. Dina, who stood at 5'3", almost needed to run to keep up with the man. The pair reached the chief's office less than two minutes later.

Dina followed Musgrave as he strode into the room and behind his desk, where he stood, arms crossed, facing the group inside the room. Dina nodded her head in greeting, and three of the four strangers in the room nodded back. The fourth, who Dina instantly recognized as Alastor "Mad-eye" Moody, made no move to greet her.

Without hesitation, Musgrave began.

"Don't worry about any current assignments you may be on. I'm pushing them to our backup crew so you can concentrate on this. Understand that what I am about to tell you is highly classified information. Do not discuss it with anyone outside this room."

He paused for only a moment, drawing a gray cloth from under his desk and wiping his dripping forehead, and continued.

"On the night Voldemort killed the Potter family, Harry survived because his mother sacrificed herself for him. He was placed with his Aunt and Uncle, the Dursleys, because Harry retained the protection Lily Potter gave him as long as he was near one of her blood relatives."

Dina glanced at the others and noted that none of them showed surprise. She realized that most of them must already be aware of these facts; they must, she concluded, be higher-ranking than herself.

"Both Vernon and Petunia Dursley have been murdered."

At this information, every person in the room showed shock. Dina only just managed to keep her mouth shut. She knew what this meant even before Musgrave spoke again, and from their appearance, so did the others.

"The muggle police have not yet discovered the scene, and Commission workers will ensure that we have 24 hours before they arrive. Harry Potter's blood protection is null and void. We are leaving immediately for the address."

Musgrave opened the middle drawer of his solid oak desk and pulled out a red-and-gold plastic mask.

"Portkey in one minute. Questions?"

One of the three strangers who had acknowledged Dina spoke.

"How do we know what happened if we haven't been there yet?"

Musgrave sighed.

"Honestly, Lupin, are you dumb or stupid? We've had a trace on the protection charm for years. Oh, and in case you don't know each other,"

Musgrave pointed to the disheveled, middle-aged man.

"Remus Lupin, friend of the late Potters. The rest of you, introductions quickly. We've only got 40 seconds."

Dina spoke quickly. "Dina Wilson. Muggle forensics expert."

"Alastor Moody, Auror."

"Eira Lopéz, magical creatures expert."

"Oscar Corbin, magical forensics."

Musgrave checked his watch once more time and grabbed the Portkey. The others followed his lead and, in a moment, the office was empty.

—

When the six landed inside the Dursleys' home, the first thing Dina saw was Petunia and Vernon Dursley, dead at the bottom of the stairs. Trying to not vomit, she turned to Chief Musgrave and spoke, struggling to control the tremor in her voice.

"How long ago did this happen?"

"The blood protection was broken when Petunia died, twenty minutes ago."

"Twenty minutes. Right."

The rest of the team was already busy. Each person seemed to know their role. Remus Lupin was searching the house for Harry, while Mad-eye Moody warded the perimeter. Eira was kneeling over the bodies and examining the fatal wounds, while Corbin stood on the staircase and muttered diagnostic spells. Composing herself, Dina moved to join Eira.

As she approached, Corbin sighed and holstered his wand.

"Dina, right?"

Dina nodded. "Correct."

Corbin walked down the stairs, his brow wrinkled in frustration as he gingerly stepped around the bodies. "It's a good thing chief brought you. From what I can tell, no magic has been used within at least a quarter-mile radius during the last 12 hours."

Dina swallowed, and when she spoke, her voice was even. "So, a muggle did this."

The wrinkles or Corbin's forehead deepened. "Not necessarily, but it certainly wasn't a human wizard. Wizards leave a residue when they use energy from their magical core. There's none of that, so another being could have done this. A house-elf, for example. Just not magical human."

Musgrave, who had been listening, stood from his inspection of the broom cupboard.

"That's all I needed from you, Corbin. Wait here a moment. Alastor?" Alastor Moody walked through the broken pieces of the front door and pointed his wand at the back of Corbin's head.

"Obliviate."

Corbin's eyes became blank and he slumped to the ground with a faint smile on his lips. Dina watched, wide-eyed, as Mad-eye grabbed him, disappeared, and reappeared a moment later without him.

"Left him at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Good, Moody," Musgrave said. "Did you finish the wards?"

"Aye."

"Thank you. You know what to do."

Mad-eye nodded and left.

Dina and Eira both eyed their chief and waited for an explanation. None came. A moment later, Remus Lupin appeared at the second-story railing.

"Harry's gone," he said dejectedly.

Musgrave bowed his head and gripped the cupboard door with both hands. A moment later, he spoke.

"Go to Hogwarts and inform Dumbledore. Tell him to keep an eye on the list. As long as Harry is enrolled at Hogwarts, we know he's alive."

Lupin nodded and promptly disapparated.

"Chief," Eira said, "Why did you obliviate Corbin and not the others?"

Musgrave lifted his head slowly and looked her straight in the eye.

"Remus and Alastor are absolutely loyal to the Potter family and to Dumbledore. The rest of you, we need to find the killer. When your usefulness expires, you'll be sent home."

Eira opened her mouth as if to speak, but Musgrave raised his hand.

"I won't lie to you. This isn't just any missing person case. This is the Boy who Lived. He's a national hero and, more importantly," his expression softened for an instant, "and eight-year-old boy. We need to make sure he stays alive."

Eira nodded silently. The trio was silent for a minute.

"Do we get a bonus?"

Eira gaped in shock. Musgrave stared at Dina, shaking in anger. A full minute later, he spoke again.

"Miss Wilson. This is perhaps the biggest crisis our world has faced in years. If you ever," he slammed his fist on the kitchen countertop, "ever, speak to me like that again until this is resolved, I will fire you."

"Yes, sir," Dina said quietly.

Dina could practically feel the cold radiating from the chief as he walked past her, stony-eyed, and ascended the staircase. Halfway to the top, he paused and looked back at Dina.

"I know you miss him, Dina, but don't become him. The world is better off without rats like him."

"Yes, sir," Dina repeated. She glanced at Eira, who smiled warily.

"Shall we continue?"

"Yes," Dina said. "Let's."

—

An hour later, just as green dawn touched the sky, Dina stood, stretched, and walked into the living room.

"Finished."

Musgrave looked up from where he sat, brooding, on the hideous pink sofa. Eira, who had been pacing a rut into the carpet, stopped and stood still, fidgeting with her wand. During the first half-hour of forensics work, Dina had gotten to know Eira better. Eira Carver, never to be called _Miss_ Lopéz under any circumstances whatsoever, was thirty-eight, and originally from Spain. Dina was surprised to hear that Eira had only been speaking English for six years; her vocabulary was perfect and her accent very faint. The Spanish immigrant was apparently very intelligent.

Musgrave gestured to a chair.

"Please sit."

Dina sat. Musgrave leaned forward.

"You know this is not the time for frivolity. Let's forget that incident for now and move forward. What have you found?"

Dina opened her small, black notebook and ran her finger down the charts as she spoke.

"First, you were right, Harry has been sleeping in the cupboard. The hairs I found inside matched our last description of the boy. Um, there wasn't any blood in the cupboard, so… actually, more on that later."

"Dina…" Musgrave interrupted.

"Look, I need to say it like I think it, okay? Okay, so the Dursleys. That's a safer place to start. They were obviously killed with a muggle gun, the small kind called a pistol. I assume the killer had a silencer on it, otherwise the neighbors would have heard the noise and called the police. I've taken the bullets out; they're rather standard and you wouldn't really care about the details."

Dina passed by several pages in her notebooks devoted to the ballistics.

"Anyway, I believe that Petunia must have heard the door come down," Dina gestured to the hallway, "and come straight out. The killer most likely shot her from the kitchen while she was on the staircase. Vernon Dursley apparently followed her with a shotgun. He was shot near the top of the stairs and fell the rest of the way down. Both died instantly. Oh, and their son, Dudley, is confirmed missing."

Musgrave stood and began pacing the same route that Eira had so recently abandoned. Eira ran her hand through her short, dark hair and spoke into the ceiling.

"It doesn't make sense. Why would they take both boys? The other wasn't important, was he?"

"I don't know," Dina replied. "Magical theory isn't my specialty. All I could tell you is that they can't have liked each other very much. At least I could assume that from the attention Dudley got."

Musgrave finally stopped pacing and stood, facing the women.

"You two will remain part of this investigation until it concludes. I need you both to turn in a copy of your notes and a summary of your findings to my office within the hour. After that, try to get some sleep. And for all our sakes, don't talk about this. Normally, this type of investigation would go to the entire auror department, but Albus doesn't trust the ministry. The last thing I need is Rita Skeeter or Jerry Wilson sniffing my tail."

He paused. "No offense, Dina."

"I really don't care what he does," Dina said cooly. "We don't talk anymore."

"Right," he replied. "Ladies," he nodded briskly. "Until we meet again."

"Goodbye, chief," Eira said.

Musgrave disapparated with a crack and the two women were left alone in the living room. Eira turned to Dina, fighting back a yawn.

"I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Wait, can I ask you a weird question?" "I suppose so."

"Why are you still here?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I don't mean you're incompetent, but a gun killed the Dursleys. It's not like a hippogriff was in here or something."

"I do not take offense. It appears that the door was broken with unusual force. It is possible that the killer was a witch or wizard magically enhanced in strength before arriving at the house. Illegal enhancement potions were part of my late studies."

"So Chief didn't want to call in a newbie since he had you already."

Eira nodded. "Exactly."

"One more thing," Dina added, somewhat sheepishly. "Could I get a lift back to the ministry? I can't apparate."

Eira looked curious, but had the grace to not press for explanations. "Of course."

"Thanks," Dina said, relieved. "Let me just grab something from the kitchen. I'm starving. Want anything?"

"No, thank you," the older woman said, clearly appalled and struggling in vain to hide it.

"Right, this'll take just a sec." Dina jogged toward the kitchen. She was always hungry after field work, and today had been particularly tense. She knew many people didn't like to take from the dead, but the dead weren't around to say a word in their defense.

Dina spotted the half-covered plate of brownies by the microwave. She reached out to take one then froze. _No. It can't be. It can't be. He's in America. He can't be here. No._

On the counter were two half-eaten brownies, each gnawed into a semicircle. Placed just as they always were, back when…

Dina couldn't bring herself to finish that thought. Quickly, she grabbed both pieces, smashed them together in her palms, and threw them into the garbage bin under the sink. Sick to her stomach, she leaned against the countertop and breathed deeply.

Eira rounded the corner and stared with concern, not knowing whether she should rush in to help or keep her distance.

"Dina, are you healthy?"

Dina's head snapped toward the voice. Slowly, Dina eased her weight off the counter and stood straight. "I'm fine," she said. "I probably just need some sleep. Can you take me to the ministry now?"

Eira shook her head. "You're in no such condition. I'll take you home, then you can give me your notes and I'll take them to Chief Musgrave."

Dina nodded, too tired to argue. "Thanks, Miss Lopéz."

Eira linked her arm with Dina's. "Of course. You have worked hard. Promise me only two things."

"Anything."

"Sleep soon and never call me Miss."

"Yes, miss."


	3. Chapter 3: Panic

Chapter 3: Panic

-Insert typical comment about how Marvel owns Deadpool and MCU and JK owns Harry Potter and I wish I did blah blah blah-

—

Dreams can be fickle. Most people wake up every morning and forget about the giant pink horse eating pirates in Neverland which they failed to defeat the previous night. That's the way it was with Harry Potter.

When he woke, he forgot about his dreams of shrinking and hiding from Aunt Petunia in the couch. But he did remember the other dream. The one with the green light. Always the green light. Green like Harry's eyes, like fresh grass, like apples. Green like go signals in traffic, like spring, like life itself.

Or death. Harry never knew what was happening in his dream, but the screaming woke him every time. Others were delighted when the first young shoots of grass awoke in the springtime, when the world came to life. The same color could bring happiness to the world but pain to Harry. Color is a fickle monster, too.

Harry tried to sit up, but found he was still groggy. He put his hand against the wall to steady himself, then froze as his hand made contact. His fingertips brushed a sticky, wet surface. Impossible. Harry kept his cubbyhole clean.

The memories of the previous night came crashing back. Harry opened his eyes, but saw nothing. He tried to move his hand to his face, and found that it was tied very closely to the wall. He tried the other hand. Also restrained, on the other side of him. Harry tried to open his mouth, but it was duck-taped over.

Now, the duck tape on the face routine has one key problem. It just doesn't work. Harry stuck his tongue out between his lips to loosened the tape then opened his mouth wide to dislodge it completely.

Harry lay there for a minute, breathing deeply like Mrs. Figg had taught him. The first time she had taken Harry to her house, she had taught him several breathing exercises, fearful that he might develop a sudden allergy to cats and collapse on her carpet. Harry had promised to never do so. Anyone who had seen the feline devotee's carpet would do the same.

Now, lying flat on his back in a strange place, Harry had two options. He could call out, or stay quiet. In his experience, talking never brought much good. Adults wanted him to stay quiet and out of the way. So Harry lay in the dark, shivering and quiet. He was good at that.

—

Eira could tell that Dina was exhausted, but more than that, she was scared. They were all scared, of course. Losing Harry Potter was a catastrophe. Eira herself was scared.

She was scared of what Harry Potter's loss could do to the wizarding world. She was scared of how the Daily Prophet would sensationalize the kidnapping and of what the ministry would do to suppress the panic. She was scared most of all for Harry. The poor boy was only eight years old.

But Eira could tell that Dina was scared in a different way. As she took the young woman's arm to disapparate, Eira could tell that her new acquaintance was panicking. In the following days, Eira suspected that her entire world would panic. But Dina had been calm, subdued even, since Musgrave had reproved her. If Dina was panicking, she must have seen something new. Something she wouldn't tell the others.

"Er…Eira?"

Eira shook her head violently to clear it. "Sorry, Dina, lost in thought. I just realized I can't apparate us you home if I haven't seen the place."

"Sorry, sorry." Dina pulled away from Eira and reached into the side pocket of her ministry-uniform robes. She pulled out her wallet and fumbled with the clasp. When she finally managed to open it, she pulled out a strip of paper from the inside.

"Sorry, Eira, usually I remember to do this earlier."

Eira took the paper, which was a strip of photographs depicting a small kitchen. "You must have to side-along apparate often," she remarked curiously. "Did you never learn?"

Dina violently rubbed one side of her face. "I try to avoid even this" She rolled her shoulders first forward, then backward. "A few splicing incidents ruined it for me."

"I understand," Eira interrupted. "I'm sorry that I asked."

"Forget it; don't spread it. Are you finished with the photographs?" Eira glanced at the still pictures once more and handed them back to Dina. Dina's hands were sweating. Finally, after Dina put her wallet back into her pocket, Eira took her arm and apparated to the room from the pictures.

Upon arrival, Dina immediately released Eira's arm and leaned against the countertop. Eira stood and quietly surveyed the kitchen and what it contained. Dina raised her head and watched the zoologist's face through tired eyes.

Eira's expression turned from confusion to shock to understanding. A full minute elapsed before either spoke. Shaking her head in wonder and placed her hand on Dina's shoulder, looking into her glistening copper-brown soul windows with her own misty, faintly-lined black eyes.

"Dina, how old did you say you were?"

"I didn't say."

Eira waited.

"Fine, well, I'm eighteen."

There was silence for a moment, then suddenly, Dina found herself smothered by a large hug. Eira laughed lightly and then let go, smiling.

"You should be proud of yourself. Never forget that. You may be the first of your kind to work for the ministry in such an important position."

Dina's eyes narrowed. "Lady, I'm a squib, not a different species."

"I did not mean to offend, but I am curious. Who hired you?"

Dina shrugged. "One of my parents' competitors got me the job just to spite them."

"They did not approve?" "Look 'em up. Amabel and Winston Wilson. And really," Dina said, drawing away from the excited zoologist, "it's none of your business."

Eira blinked and stepped back, hurt. "If you ever need to talk, my office will always be open to you."

"I don't need help. I need to do this on my own."

Eira breathed. She was so close to someone who was literally making history. Someone who was possibly the most unusual person in the Ministry. So, so close. But, in the end, Eira's manners won out, and she retreated.

"Of course you can. Only, please remember my offer. Adios, Dina Wilson."

"Hasta la vista, Miss Lopéz."

Eira rolled her eyes, then disapparated.

—

Deadpool was scared. Really, really, scared. He'd just kidnapped the Boy Who Lived. Harry Potter. The wizarding world's most famous child. Soon jurors would come looking, dozens of them. They couldn't kill him, but they could lock him up. Deadpool didn't know whether dementors could affect him, but he wasn't willing to take chances. Soul-sucking was perhaps the one fate he truly feared. Any of his body parts could regrow, but the soul was something else altogether.

The mercenary, still fully dressed, stumbled into his bathroom and leaned heavily on the countertop. He stared through his mirrored lenses at the red-and-black masked face in the glass. Gripped the sink tighter, cracked his neck. Released his grip, turned a full circle. Just to stare in the mirror again.

Deadpool punched the wall and broke his hand. A little pain would hold his panic at bay for a moment.

—

Dina woke up on the couch in her living room.

She hadn't intended to fall asleep in the first place, but the night's events had tired her more than she had expected. After Eira had left the house, Dina had pried her shoes off and collapsed on the couch.

The eighteen-year-old glanced up at the clock on the ceiling. Most people wouldn't think to put a clock on a ceiling, but Dina had installed it the moment she moved in. She could never figure out why other people didn't think of it. The ceiling was the only surface you could see from anywhere in the room.

7:04 pm. So, she had slept through the day (assuming it was still the same date). Dina lay in the dim light of her cramped sitting area and wondered where to begin. She decided that organizing her thoughts would help. Wade would have told her to %&*$ organization. Right, Wade.

Dina abruptly swung her legs off of the couch, then hissed as her shins hit the short coffee table in front of her. Sitting up further, she rubbed them hard. Wade always said pain killed panic. But that wasn't always true. Pain usually adds to panic. For example, if you're alone in a dark basement with a serial killer and you suddenly fall down a staircase and break your leg, you will not fell less panic. You will feel more. But a little self-inflicted pain could be a useful reality check, Dina conceded. Wade wasn't a complete idiot. Some days.

A small black notepad on the table caught her eye. Dina leaned forward, deliberately pressing her sore shins against the table's sharp edge. She opened the notebook and fished a stubby yellow pencil from her outer robe pocket. She tapped it against her chin a few times and stared at the blank page.

"Right, then," Dina muttered. "It's time for self-talk-fest extraordinare. If you are on a distant planet and your name begins with an X, slap the person next to you in the tentacle.

"Alright, alright, my invisible audience. Let's get this party started! Unless it's a funeral. Better yet, both. Oh, rats, I'm talking like Wade now. Huh. Hear that, Wade? You hear that?"

Dina was standing now, arms stretched out, eyes glinting, fixed on the ceiling above her. "What are you, deaf, big brother?" she yelled. Then she turned to face the love seat across from her and swept her arm across an invisible crowd.

"Friends, aliens, countrymen, lend me you various hearing organs. For the last time, no, I don't actually see you there." Dina turned and jumped onto the back of the couch.

"I am not, in fact, mad," she soliloquized, balancing on the curved back of the seat. "I simply find it much easier to tint reality at a time like this. At the moment, I am Harley Quinn and you are my henchpeople. Look smart! Can't have us a bunch of loafers around here."

A casual observer would have called the police. A close observer would have noted the wetness in Dina's eyes and her trembling left thumb. Before calling the police.

"Now," Dina continues, dropping the notebook back onto the table, "I don't feel like writing today." She tossed the pencil behind her. It hit a lamp and fell into the spotless silver sink. Dina sat and began addressing the blue velvet love seat.

"So here's the evidence. Two adults murdered, very efficiently. Two children missing, not a trace. One bashed-in door. No magic used. That's what the team knows, but I now also know that a chocolate brownie was bitten into the shape of Wade's personal symbol. Coincidence? I think not. Note, ladies and gentlemen, the staleness of the pieces. The rest of the scrumptious bars were covered by a cloth. They were still moist. This one had been taken out just about the time of the murder. See, the inside is still moist."

Dina leaned back. Cold reality banished her fantasy, and with it, her bravado. She sighed.

"Babbling was always Wade's thing. Now I'm just mimicking him. Not that that's not okay… or maybe it really isn't. I don't know. Wade, you retard."

She stood up, stumbled into the kitchen, and robotically started pulling ingredients down from the dusty shelves. As she set a small pot to boil, she glanced at the small black cell phone on the counter.

"I guess the question is, who's gonna call first?"

—

Deadpool heard a small sound from his bedroom. "Kid must be awake," he muttered. Wade knew exactly what it took to secure a frightened child against accidental magic. He and his sister used to experiment with ropes, chains, blindfolds, and even body-binds (though that last one hadn't been so easy to undo). He couldn't do curses anymore, but his knot-tying skills were superb.

Deadpool clenched and unclenched his fist, which had just finished healing. He eyed the large red phone charging in the corner of the cluttered living room. "Question is, do you still want to kill me, little sis?"

—

Harry heard a voice in the next room. He turned his head to hear better, but the talking stopped. Then he heard footsteps. Whoever was outside was coming in. Harry lay in the dark, still as death, listening as the footsteps slowed, then stopped, outside the door. For a moment Harry thought he would be left alone, but then the door handle turned and the door creaked open. The mystery man (Harry guessed it was a man) walked closer to the bed. There was a scraping sound, and a soft thud, so Harry assumed his captor had sat down in a chair. The man took a deep breath.

"Your gag's gone, kid, you can stop pretending to sleep."

Harry propped himself up on his elbows, as far as he could sit without straining the ropes. "What do you want?" He said bravely.

"Let's talk about you first. What's your name?"

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers?" Harry said meekly.

"Hi, I'm Tony Stark. We're not strangers anymore. Here's a deal: you talk, and I'll get you some food."

"Can you take the thing off my eyes?"

"Maybe later."

Harry thought a minute. Dudley lied a lot, and this man didn't sound like Dudley.

"I'm Harry Potter."

Wade swallowed. He was definitely in big, big trouble.

"So, Harry, are the Dursleys your only relatives?"

"I think so."

"No other aunts or uncles? No parents, grandparents?" Wade knew the answer.

"No. Why did you kill them?"

Wade stared at the blindfolded kid and realized that Harry must be pretty sharp. The boy had been alone and terrified in the dark and still knew exactly what had happened.

"Somebody gave me a very big check and told me they were very bad people. You know how it goes. Gotta eat."

"No one's gonna pay ransom for me." "You'd be surprised. Wasn't planning on that anyway."

"What do you want?" Harry said once more, leaning back onto the pillow.

"Dunno. Listen, Harry, have you ever noticed weird things happening when you're upset?"

"Can you take the blindfold off now?"

"If you tell the truth, I might."

"My hair grew out overnight once."

Wade leaned forward and pulled the kid's blindfold off. Harry turned his head and stared at him.

"Oh."


End file.
